


A New Direction

by dragon_temeraire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Jackson Never Left, M/M, Pining, Sarcasm, Scott teaches him how to werewolf, Training, Werewolf Jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 17:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13792494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_temeraire/pseuds/dragon_temeraire
Summary: Now that he’s a werewolf, Jackson needs training to work on his control. His teacher ends up being none other than Scott McCall.





	A New Direction

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon prompt requesting Scott/Jackson.

“Okay,” Scott says from behind him, hands settling warmly on Jackson’s shoulders. “Take a deep breath, then let out the claws. _Only_ the claws.”

Jackson sighs. He’d tentatively agreed to be part of Derek’s pack a week after he’d stopped being a ‘murder lizard’ (Stiles’ words, not his), and started being an actual werewolf. But he’d flatly refused to let Derek train him, considering that Derek was already responsible for many of his nightmares. Jackson did _not_ trust him.

Which meant that the next most experienced werewolf was none other than Scott McCall. Jackson had been pretty dubious about his abilities as a teacher, but had agreed reluctantly.

On reconsideration, though, he’s not sure he can handle all of this _touching._ He’s pretty sure things were better when he could paralyze people on the spot.

But he knows that Derek _will_ take him down if he doesn’t improve his control, so he takes a deep, steadying breath, and lets his claws slide free. He raises them up so Scott can see them over his shoulders.

“Great,” Scott says, sounding genuinely enthusiastic. “Now retract the claws, and shift only your face.”

His hands slide down to Jackson’s biceps, and when he squeezes gently Jackson has to suppress a shiver.

It turns out that Lydia isn’t into the fangs, glowing eyes, and sudden hair growth _at all_ —despite the fact that it’s a definite improvement over his lizard stage—so they’d split up not long after he’d changed. And it wasn’t that big of a deal, she was just something else in his life to make him look good, but it _did_ mean that he hadn’t gotten laid in _weeks_. And that was making the touch of Scott’s hands affect him a little too much.

Even worse, the way Scott smiled at him sometimes made Jackson’s heart feel like it was growing in size, and he didn’t like that _one bit_.

“How will you even know?” he asks gruffly, trying not to lean back into Scott like he wants to. “You’re standing behind me.”

“Trust me, I’ll be able to tell,” Scott says easily.

Jackson’s still working on the whole ‘listen to the heartbeat’ thing, but he’s pretty sure Scott’s not lying. Jackson’s never seen him this confident and centered, and it’s honestly kind of intriguing.

He takes a slow breath, feeling Scott’s hands skim across his arms, and lets himself shift. He manages to do it smoothly, despite the distracting warmth and scent of Scott behind him.

There’s a short pause, and then Scott leans in until his cheek is almost touching Jackson’s, his chest bumping lightly against Jacksons’ back. “Nice try,” he says, breath tickling against Jackson’s skin. “But your claws are out.”

_Dammit_.

 

*

 

Scott had wanted to meet every day after school, but Jackson had sneered and shot that down _real quick_ , claiming it’d be too damaging to his reputation. Especially considering that Lydia is still ignoring him completely.

He’s apparently being punished for that now, since the address Scott texted him after class has turned out to be an old, creepy abandoned building.

Which absolutely _stinks_ of garlic.

Jackson grimaces, and Scott leans out of the doorway to laugh at him. “You’re going to have to work on that poker face,” he says. “Or just never go into an Italian restaurant ever again.”

“Fine by me,” Jackson grumbles, but Scott ignores him.

“So, your task for today is to find the source of all that garlic smell,” he says, with too much enthusiasm.

“I’m not a drug-sniffing dog,” Jackson says snidely, eyebrows raised.

“Not yet,” Scott says cheerfully. “And I’m not even asking you to find drugs. So go on, make me proud.”

Jackson gives him his best scowl, then takes a quick breath, trying not to wince. He makes his way cautiously through the doorway, hearing Scott follow close behind him, then makes his way around the perimeter of the building.

There are shelves with old paint cans and dusty cardboard boxes, and normally Jackson wouldn’t enjoy those smells, but this time they’re a brief respite from the pervasive smell of garlic. He keeps moving, past wooden pallets and broken pieces of plastic, and picks up several garlic scent-trails.

He turns to look at Scott, who’s standing in the middle of the warehouse. “What did you do, smear it everywhere with your hands?” he asks sarcastically.

“I might have,” Scott says, putting on his innocent face. It doesn’t fool Jackson for a second. “Just a little.”

Sure enough, Jackson finds that one of the trails leads faintly back to Scott. He gives Scott a suitably disgusted look, then returns to his search. It takes several tries, but eventually he zeroes in on the source, finding the open jar under a coil of rope.

“You did it!” Scott says brightly, like Jackson just scored the winning goal of the game. He reaches toward Jackson for what’s likely a hug, but Jackson shies away before those garlic-hands can make contact.

“I need some fresh air,” he says, heading for the door. He tosses the open jar at Scott on his way out, smirking.

He gets a few blissful moments of peace before Scott joins him. He doesn’t smell any more like garlic than he did before, so his reflexes must be pretty good. Though Jackson would never admit that out loud, of course.   

“Okay,” Scott says, ignoring Jackson’s surly look. “Next task is to find Derek.” He points toward the forested area behind the building, raising his eyebrows.

“What? He’s _here_?” Jackson demands. No matter how much he strains his ears, he can’t hear anything out there except a few birds.

“Not really,” Scott says, shrugging. “But I hid one of his shirts for you to find.”

“You realize I’m also _not_ a bloodhound, right?” Jackson says. “Besides, I thought Stiles was the one who did all the dog jokes.”

“There are hunters in this town. We have to be able to find other members of our pack in case something happens,” Scott says, unperturbed. “It’s a basic skill, so I’d hoped you’d be able to master it.”

Jackson bristles at that, even though he knows that’s exactly what Scott wants. “Oh, I fucking will,” he growls, then stomps off into the trees.

“Good,” Scott says cheerfully. “I’ll be timing you!”

_No pressure, then_ Jackson thinks, moving faster and trying to catch even a _hint_ of Derek’s scent.

It’s usually sharp with anger, distinct, but even as he takes a wider loop he can’t find it. He does catch other scents, though: Isaac’s oddly sweet but slightly fearful one, and the mixed smells of Erica’s perfume and hairspray.

He’s temped to follow _those_ scents, find out why they were here and where they went, but he resists the urge. He needs to stay on-task. He needs to _prove himself_.

So he keeps going despite his mounting frustration, but it seems like the more he tries to find only Derek’s scent, the more all the _other_ smells just cover it up. There’s suddenly an overwhelming amount of them, and he starts to tense up, shaking a little as the helpless feeling of failure starts to wash over him. _Maybe he can’t do this after all_.

But then he takes a deep, shuddering breath and pretends Scott is behind him again, hands on his shoulders, grounding him. It takes a moment, but the rush of bitter insecurity fades, and Jackson closes his eyes and lets the tension slowly bleed out of him.

It’s then that he faintly picks up Derek’s scent, with just a hint of Scott’s cinnamon smell with it. He cautiously heads in that direction, stopping and closing his eyes every time he loses the trail.

This calm process eventually leads him to one of Derek’s shirts, laid carefully across a rock. Jackson tosses it over his shoulder, then decides to complete a bonus round and find Scott, too.

He’s much easier to locate—Jackson picks up his scent almost immediately, and follows it along a narrow path to a small clearing. Scott’s sitting on a log in the middle of it, watching a pair of birds with a little smile on his face. He brightens when he sees Jackson. “You found it,” he says proudly. “Good work.”

Jackson nods. “I’m a little surprised you weren’t right there when I did.”

“I was tempted, but I decided it’d be better if I gave you some space.”

Jackson breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Scott missed his near-breakdown, then.

“Hey,” Scott says to catch his attention, then points to a trail between the trees. “We’re done for the day. That’ll take you straight back to the parking lot.”

Jackson goes, but finds himself oddly tempted to stay.

 

*

 

Jackson doesn’t exactly have plans Friday night—he’d always let Lydia decide where they were going and what they were doing—so when Scott texts him and asks him to come over, he doesn’t have to think long before he agrees.

“What sort of training are we doing today?” he asks when Scott answers the door. “Werewolf acrobatics? Howling 101?” He tries to sound put-upon, but he’s honestly happy to be here. He was getting bored sitting in his room, especially with Danny at the Jungle and barely answering his texts.

“What?” Scott says, eyebrows pulling together. He gestures Jackson inside, points to the pizza boxes waiting on the coffee table. “No, I figured we could use a break from all the training. We can just hang out, watch a movie or something.”

Previously, Jackson would have been tempted to make a snide remark about losers with nothing to do on Friday nights, but he’s beginning to think it wasn’t Scott who was the loser all this time. “It better not be The Notebook,” he says automatically, then rolls his eyes at himself. He’s not with Lydia anymore, he never has to watch that movie again.

Scott just laughs. “Wouldn’t be my first choice, either. You can pick something for us to watch, if you want,” he says, pointing to the DVD rack.

 Jackson tries not to show how thrown—and pleasantly surprised—he feels, and casually strolls over to look at the selection.

It becomes apparent that some of the movies must be Stiles’—he can’t imagine Scott owning a documentary on termites. He scans the titles several times, but he’s so distracted by Scott’s presence, by the kindness Scott is showing him, that he ends up grabbing a DVD at random.

He’s just loading it into the player when Scott flips the lids on the pizza boxes, and the smells hit Jackson full-force. “Hey, is that sausage and pepper?” he asks, glancing over. It’s his favorite, but he didn’t think anyone knew that.

The other box just has a plain pepperoni pizza, and Scott grabs a slice out of it as he says casually, “Yep, just for you.”

He sends a bright smile Jackson’s way, and he feels his heart pick up in response.  Scott’s treating him like they’re _friends_ or something, despite Jackson’s admittedly dickish behavior toward him through the years. He doesn’t know quite what to make of that.

So he eats his pizza and pretends to watch the movie, though he mostly just tries not to stare at Scott, who’s strangely captivating here, comfortable and confident in his own environment.

“You know,” Scott says after a little while, “we should play some lacrosse out back. See how much your skills have improved—I know you’ve been holding yourself back at practice.”

“Can’t suddenly be amazing overnight,” Jackson says with a pointed smirk. “That’d be too suspicious.”

To his surprise, Scott smiles. “Don’t want people thinking you’re on steroids?” he asks playfully.

“Yeah, can’t have them finding out about _this_ juice,” Jackson snorts, claws bared, and Scott sends him a knowing grin.

There’s a long silence after that, and Jackson stares mindlessly at the screen while Scott eats his last slice of pizza. Jackson’s still getting used to the capacity of his werewolf stomach, so his box is only half empty. He looks at it contemplatively for a moment, then says, “I think the part that’s going to be suspicious is the fact that I don’t hate my co-captain anymore.”

Scott looks absurdly pleased by that, so Jackson rolls his eyes and adds, “You really _are_ a good co-captain, I just didn’t want to admit it.”

Scott’s smile, if possible, gets even wider. “I’m still trying to figure it out, but—”

“Nope,” Jackson cuts in, then has a moment of disbelief that he’s actually going to say this, but, “you understand their strengths and how to use them better than I do. I tend to just yell at them until things improve.”

“Yeah, that’s also the Coach Approach,” Scott says, laughing.

Jackson tries not to join it, but he can’t help it. “Hey, at least when I give a motivational speech, it’s not a direct quote from Independence Day.”

“Fair enough,” Scott says. “Though if I’m remembering correctly, yours go more like ‘ **get out there, and don’t fuck up** ’ so I’m not that impressed.”

“I don’t talk like _that_ ,” Jackson protests, full-on belly laughing now, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “You sound ridiculous.”

Scott grins, and doesn’t deny it.

They make fun of Coach for a while longer, then let the conversation drift to other subjects—though Jackson doesn’t mention Allison, who broke up with Scott a couple of weeks ago, and Scott doesn’t mention Lydia, who still isn’t interested in resuming their relationship—and he enjoys it more than he ever thought he would.

 

*

 

“So, what’s your anchor?” Isaac asks, boosting himself up and sitting on the counter like a heathen. “You figured it out yet?”

“My _what?_ ” Jackson says, eyes on Isaac’s smirking face.

“You’re in training, and you haven’t learned _that_ yet?” Erica says disbelievingly as she saunters over. “You know, your _anchor_. What you think about when you want to control your shift.”

“Mine is my pervasive, nameless dread of the future,” Isaac says with complete seriousness, then rolls his eyes at Jackson’s look. “I’m kidding, obviously. But I’m not telling you what it actually is.”

“You mean _who_ it is,” Erica says smugly. “And we all know that it’s Stiles, so don’t even play like it’s not.”

Isaac busies himself with fixing his scarf, and doesn’t say anything.

Erica grins victoriously. “Mine’s Boyd, by the way.”

“Are you his, then?” Jackson asks curiously.

“I think his anchor is his own force of will,” Erica says, shrugging. “His control is amazing.”

“So, have you found your anchor yet?” Isaac asks again.

Jackson immediately flashes to the image of Scott standing behind him, hands a soothing weight on his shoulders, encouraging him to stay in control. Remembers how much Scott’s scent settles him, how Scott was his _first thought_ when he got frustrated, and how that had calmed him almost immediately.

“I think I have,” he says cautiously, though he doesn’t even want to admit it to himself. He’s let himself get attached. And to _Scott McCall_ , of all people.

“Yeah, I figured,” Erica says, giving him a knowing look.

Jackson sneers to cover up his worry, then heads out of the kitchen and into the open area of the loft, trying not to think about Scott.

 

*

 

He shows up at Jackson’s locker on Friday afternoon, standing closer than Jackson would normally be comfortable with. His scent wraps around Jackson like a warm blanket, and he has to fight the urge to lean in and bury his face against Scott’s neck.

“Your first full moon as a werewolf is coming up,” Scott says, as though Jackson could have somehow forgotten. “Do you want to come over? Or would you rather be at your house for that?”

_Why can’t I do it alone?_ He nearly asks, but finds that he doesn’t really want to. “My house,” he says, because he wants to be somewhere comfortable and familiar.

“Okay,” Scott says easily. “I’ll bring some snacks and stuff, and come over later.”

Jackson nods, and Scott gives him a sunny smile, his shoulder brushing against Jackson’s before he goes.

 

*

 

Honestly, Jackson’s a little disappointed at how anti-climactic the whole thing is.

His family isn’t home—he knew they wouldn’t be—but it doesn’t even matter, because nothing particularly unusual happens. (Sure, there’s a little bit of howling, because he couldn’t resist, and Scott had promptly joined in. Then he’d had to call Derek and let him know they were both fine.)

And he feels kind of reckless and full of energy, but Scott—god help him, his _anchor_ —is right there with him, so he’s not too worried about it.

They go for a late-night run around the neighborhood, eat the high-carb snacks Scott brought, then play their intense, werewolf-version of lacrosse in the backyard.

At some point they end up wrestling on the floor of the living room, teeth bared and growling, but there’s no actual malice in it. They pin each other a few times, snap their jaws when they do, then laugh as they roll apart.

Jackson wakes up in the morning tucked into his bed, feeling almost hungover. Scott’s sprawled out on the blankets next to him, looking totally relaxed and not much worse for wear.

Jackson blinks sleepily, considers his options, then inches a little closer and goes back to sleep.

 

*

 

“Dude,” Danny hisses, cornering Jackson as he steps out of the Porsche. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Scott?”

“I’m not,” Jackson snaps out, feeling his heart jolt. “Why would you think that?”

Danny gives him a condescending look. “Maybe because you haven’t whined about him stealing your glory for _weeks_ , or because I’ve seen you willingly talking with him after school. Or maybe because his car was parked in front of your house _all weekend_.”

“We we’re just…hanging out,” Jackson tries weakly.

Danny doesn’t look convinced. “You know, when he was asking me weird questions, like what your favorite kind of pizza was, I didn’t know what was going on. But now it’s all starting to make sense.” He levels a stern look at Jackson. “And if _you’re_ not interested, you better let him down soon. Nobody likes to be led on, Jax.”

“It’s not like that,” he grumbles, pushing past Danny and hurrying toward the front doors.

It’s _not_ like that between him and Scott, he’s sure of it. But that doesn’t explain why he feels so off-balance.

And it doesn’t mean he doesn’t _want_ there to be something.

 

*

 

“Okay,” Scott says, pulling Jackson into his house and giving him a smile that looks a little sharp. “We’re going to work on your control today.”

“Haven’t we done that a bunch of other times?” Jackson says wryly. “And we’re not even close to another full moon. I think I’m fine.”

He’s promptly shoved up against a wall, Scott’s hands pressing hard against his chest. He feels his fangs itching at his gums, ready to drop, but he manages to hold them in. He can’t have Scott proving him wrong this early.

“Different kind of test,” Scott says, fingers digging into Jackson’s shoulders. “And you can stop me any time you want, okay?”

“What?” Jackson says automatically. Usually his training is not presented as optional.

“See, when I first turned, my control was pretty good,” Scott says, breath washing warmly against Jackson’s neck, and he struggles not to shiver. “Except when thinks got a little more…intimate.”

Scott’s lips are suddenly pressed against his throat, his hands sliding slowly down Jackson’s chest. “So the question is,” he says, tongue darting out across the curve of Jackson’s collarbone, “can you stay in control _now?_ ”

His hands drag down and slip under Jackson’s shirt, fingertips stroking along Jackson’s hips, and it’s _too much_.

“Do I have to?” he growls out, yanking Scott up and into a kiss. You don’t need that kind of control if you’re with _another werewolf_. He’s digging his claws into Scott’s hair and into the back of his shirt, but he doesn’t care. Not when he’s too busy tasting Scott, savoring the way he feels pressed tight against him.

And Scott kisses him back eagerly, rucking Jackson’s shirt up as his hands move higher, thumbs skating across Jackson’s nipples. He can feel Scott’s strength humming just under the surface, and being surrounded by the scent of his arousal makes Jackson feel intoxicated and craving more.

He grinds up against Scott, reveling in the sound he makes, and feels the sharp bite of Scott’s claws against his skin. He pulls away, grinning. “Looks like I’m not the only one who needs to work on control.”

“Around you,” Scott says, licking his lips, “it definitely takes more work.”

“Good,” Jackson says, feeling entirely too pleased. He still has a hand buried in Scott’s hair, but he doesn’t plan on moving it, using it instead to pull him in close again. “What made you think I’d go for this?”

“There were a few clues,” Scott says with a smile, fingers tracing over Jackson’s abs. “Like the fact that you kept calling me _Scott_ instead of McCall.”

Jackson blinks. He’s not sure when that happened. He hadn’t even _noticed_.

“And I overheard your conversation with Danny in the parking lot. When you said there was nothing between us,” Scott says, hand resting warmly in the center of Jackson’s chest, “your heartbeat changed. That’s when I knew that I had to make a move.”

“Considering you actually called it _training_ ,” Jackson says teasingly, leaning in to run his lips across Scott’s jaw, “I think you could use some more practice.”

A month ago, he’d been pissed about losing his girlfriend, thinking she was his best option. But he hadn’t considered that he could get a boyfriend instead.

He’s considering it now, though.

“You going to give me that practice?” Scott asks, looking amused.

“Yeah, I will,” Jackson says, smiling, and pulls Scott into another kiss. “Let’s get started.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come by and prompt me/talk to me [ on tumblr](http://dragon-temeraire.tumblr.com/).


End file.
